


Musical Magic

by palavapeite



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Fluff, Lads Lads Lads, M/M, Parlour games, a bit of candle metaphor, festive winter fic, maybe levy/hadley-bright if you squint really hard, there is NO ANGST in this someone hand me a medal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite
Summary: It’s not a party without parlour games. This is one of the most agreeable games that can be imagined.or: I was really excited for the upcoming NY exchange and wanted to write a silly and happy little fic in the meantime.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	Musical Magic

**Author's Note:**

> “Musical Magic. This is one of the most agreeable games that can be imagined, when played with address. One of the party is made to quit the room until it is determined what he shall be required to perform; when that is arranged he is called in: he is then to divine the office assigned to him, having nothing to guide him in his conjectures, except the variation of some music from loud to soft. When he approaches the person or object in question the music becomes piano; when he is still nearer, piu piano; and so on gradually softening, until it is pianissimo. When the player touches the right object the music ceases, which indicates that he has so far succeeded as to discover the instrument; but he has to guess now what is to be done with it, therefore the music re-commences: when he does not hit upon the right conjecture, the loudness of the music announces his failure: the farther he is from performing his office the louder it grows.”  
>  _[Winter Evening Pastimes; or, The Merry-Maker’s Companion](https://books.google.at/books?id=ht4GAAAAQAAJ&dq=rachel%20revel&hl=de&pg=PP2#v=onepage&q=rachel%20revel&f=false)_ by Rachel Revel, ~~patron saint of lads~~ spinster

Cheers erupted all around when Mr Honeyfoot, after a great deal of laughter and cajoling, lifted the festive wreath of ivy and holly that had been placed on his wife’s head earlier (when she had put the rest of the party to shame at snapdragon) off her artfully arranged curls and transferred it onto his own balding head. The music fell silent at last, and Segundus could not help feeling somewhat sorry for Miss Redruth’s poor violin in Purfois’ hands, even though he, along with everyone else, applauded Purfois for being a good sport and providing the music. 

“Well done, Papa!” the youngest Honeyfoot (technically Mrs Wright) cried, her cheeks as flushed as everyone else’s, from laughter, the warmth in the parlour, and not to mention the giant and almost emptied wassail bowl that had carried their spirits through dinner, dancing, and now several parlour games into… goodness, well into the small hours, it seemed... 

“Who goes next?” The eldest Honeyfoot (technically Mrs Martin) was clapping her hands in excitement. “Mr Purfois! You must!” 

“Yes, Henry!” Hadley-Bright slapped Purfois’ shoulder with an eager grin. “You aren’t going to be shy, old fellow, are you?” 

“Somebody must play the music!” Purfois protested when the suggestion that he be next appeared to gain traction among the Honeyfeet. “And we’ve already established that, with Miss Redruth not here, I am the only one among us skilled at the violin!” 

“I believe,” Childermass offered wryly from his armchair by the fire, both feet up on a chair he had pulled up from the dining table, “that at least one more person here could conceivably manage ‘loud’…” 

Purfois, who had just raised his glass to his lips, almost poured its contents down his front, and Hadley-Bright, who had quite possibly looked too deep into the wassail bowl, howled with glee. Childermass’ eyes twinkled darkly, and Segundus could not help snickering where he stood a little away from the heat of the fireplace, nursing his own drink. He felt comfortably sluggish, heavy and drowsy with food and laughter and good company, and the skin of his cheeks tingled pleasantly with content and merriment. 

“Mr Segundus!” Purfois exclaimed then, and Segundus found himself the centre of attention very suddenly as everyone turned to look at him. “You have not had a turn yet, sir!” 

“Yes, Mr Segundus!” Honeyfoot crowed from the sopha, where he had settled in next to his wife, an arm around her waist, the other toasting at Segundus with a broad smile. “You are our host; you absolutely must have a turn!” 

“Oh, but really I–” 

“No, Papa is right; you really _must…!_ ” 

Segundus’ half-hearted protests were, so far as they did not directly drown in the vocal enthusiasm of his guests, blatantly ignored, and a moment later he found himself gently, but firmly ushered out of the parlour, and admonished not to be a spoilsport and listen at the door. 

The air in the hall outside was significantly cooler than inside the room, and Segundus took several deep breaths, appreciating how it sent a pleasant chill down his spine and chased some of his festive stupor from his mind. As he did indeed not wish to be a spoilsport, he stepped some paces away from the door, behind which people appeared now to be discussing in hushed, but agitated voices and the occasional burst of laughter what feat Segundus would have to perform upon re-entry to the merry tune of Mr Purfois’ musical determination. 

Segundus was under no illusion that they would, fondly and with all the care of good friends, choose something sufficiently embarrassing for their host and headmaster, which Segundus had every intention to take in the best of humour. They were, after all, some of the very best people in his life, and he could not remember or imagine a happier Christmas for himself than this one, surrounded by them, and getting to share all his blessings and good fortune, in this house, his school, that had become home. 

Smiling into the cool night air, Segundus noticed that the parlour had fallen very quiet. 

“You may come in now, Mr Segundus!” the middle Honeyfoot (soon-to-be Mrs Radcliffe (no relation)) cried merrily, and, emptying his drink, Segundus stepped back into the room with an expectant look. 

Instantly, he was hit by a deafening wail of the violin that felt much like a slap in the face but eventually turned into an aggressively jaunty melody. 

They all sat in a wide half circle, facing the door with expressions of barely contained glee. Purfois was the only one who remained standing, fiddling away, though whether he swayed with musical passion or intoxication remained up for debate. 

Segundus set down his glass on the nearest surface and surveyed the room, not quite able to keep from grinning with the suspense and intrigue of the moment. Walking in a wide circle, he ventured towards the laden dinner table, then passed the Honeyfeet, all eight of them, and turned to the other side of the fireplace, where Hadley-Bright perched on the edge of his chair with a beet red face, clinging to his drink and biting back laughter. Next to him sat Levy, who looked just as giddy, but frequently nudged Hadley-Bright in the side with an air of reproval. Childermass was still in his armchair and idly smoking his pipe, his feet up on a low table now that the chairs were all in use. 

When he music softened – none-too-subtly because, Segundus realised, Purfois was struggling not to giggle too – Segundus stopped, turning on the spot and looking around at the faces of his friends, then up at the ceiling and down at the floor, and finally, directly at Childermass, who looked innocently up at him, calm as ever, moving the tip of his pipe between his lips. 

Segundus squared his shoulders and put on a very overtly determined face.

Well, then. 

He made a move to grab Childermass’ pipe, which turned out to be unlit, after all, and appeared the most obvious place to start. Unfortunately, Childermass relinquished it without any discernible change to the quality or volume of the music. Putting the pipe in his waistcoat pocket – it was a bad habit for mixed company – Segundus hummed thoughtfully and tapped a finger to his lips, narrowing his eyes at Childermass again.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about Childermass’ appearance. He wore no rings or watch, and was not given to fancies of adopting festive adornments after his third drink, like the holly antlers Levy had graciously accepted from the youngest Honeyfoot and Hadley-Bright for his victory playing The Three Kingdoms, or the wreath that Mr Honeyfoot still wore like a crown on his head, or the ornate brooch the middle Honeyfoot had blushingly pinned to her finacé’s lapel. There was, as far as Segundus could tell, nothing about Childermass’ person that seemed easily detachable or removable in polite company. 

Childermass, though he had brushed his hair for the occasion, looked much like he always did, and the sight of him lounging in his armchair with his feet up was nothing Segundus had not seen a dozen–

Oh.

Oh, of course. 

Biting back a huff of laughter, Segundus let out a long-suffering sigh instead, and Hadley-Bright and Levy looked ready to combust. 

Bending down, Segundus made to take hold of Childermass’ shoe, and instantly thought his teeth would fall right out of his head when the violin let out a horrible, grinding shriek of disapproval. 

“Goodness!” Levy exclaimed, the first of the party to let go of his ears, shooting an exasperated look at Purfois, who appeared somewhat chagrined, but shrugged and gestured at Segundus as though his actions were hardly his own responsibility.

Segundus, however, in some state of confusion now, was looking at Childermass, as though he might divine from the hidden smirk on Childermass’ lips what was required of him when the music picked up again (at not quite so ear-splitting a pitch). 

He tried several different things – reaching with his other hand, or both hands, reaching for Childermass’ hand or arm or leg instead, crouching down to grab the table– 

It was this last action that caused the music to quieten, ever so slightly, before it swelled again as soon as he straightened back up. A low tittering laugh came from the Honeyfoot side of the room, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle immensely, and Segundus had to conclude that the change in the music had been deliberate and not a tragic by-product of Purfois’ skills, or lack thereof. 

With a resigned private look at Childermass and a somewhat grand flourish of his arm for the benefit of the audience, Segundus lowered himself onto one knee. 

And _oh_. 

The music fell quiet, and the room appeared, suddenly, to be rather far away. 

Swallowing at the sight of Childermass’ casually crossed ankles and slender, stockinged calves in front of him, Segundus suddenly felt the grin that had sat fixed upon his cheeks falter. 

He was acutely aware of the hardness of the floor pressing into his knee through the soft carpet.

In his own stillness, he could hear Childermass exhale a careful, careful breath above him. 

Slowly, hesitantly – because there were entirely too many people watching them – he lifted his gaze and met Childermass’ eye. 

Childermass’ lips were parted just so, and Segundus could hear the clock ticking on the other side of the room, which was wholly impossible. 

He blinked. 

Then he began to hear the music again, music that could not quite be called ‘soft’ or ‘gentle’ but was, for Purfois’ standards, low in volume. 

Sitting back on his heel, he took a deep breath and schooled his face into a stern, scolding expression, which seemed to do the trick, and there it was again, the laugh on his face, as he picked up Childermass’ feet and let them drop to the floor with an air of triumph. 

Childermass was laughing too, and so were half the Honeyfeet, but Hadley-Bright still seemed to hover on the brink of bursting, and Levy’s feet were still dancing impatiently beneath his chair, and Purfois was still torturing that poor violin. 

“What?” Segundus laughed, looking around at them all, and most of them were giggling into their hands, even the Honeyfoot girls’ husbands, who likely had no idea what was going on, or why it was supposedly funny. 

“ _What?_ ” Segundus repeated when the music got louder and louder again, whether on purpose or because Purfois had simply lost his wits was anybody’s guess. 

“I’m afraid,” Childermass muttered, leaning forward in his chair rather conspiratorially, “You are going to have to say it.” 

“Oh, come on!” Segundus laughed, shaking his head in exasperation. Childermass reached out a hand to pluck his pipe from Segundus’ waistcoat pocket and put it back between his lips. Segundus groaned and put his hands at his hips before taking a deep breath. 

“Mr Childermass!” He had to yell to be heard over the laughter and volume of the music. “I would have you take your _shoes–_ ”, he had to force the words past his own laughter, “–off of my _table!_ ” 

“ _Or I will do it myself and you will be sorry!_ ” Hadley-Bright and Levy shouted as one, jumping to their feet and howling with laughter, and Segundus was laughing too, feeling the blush burning fiercely on his cheeks. Impulsively, he plucked one of Childermass’ shoes off his feet and chucked it in the general direction of his tutors for good measure before hiding his face in his hands and sinking back onto the carpet, shaking his head. 

When he moved his hands away from his eyes, Childermass had got to his feet and was standing over him, cheeks flushed with laughter, and held out a hand. Segundus let himself be hauled to his feet and into a cordial embrace. 

“I am not sorry, though,” Childermass muttered somewhere close to Segundus’ ear before passing him off to a beaming Mr Honeyfoot, who slapped his shoulder paternally and struggled to contain his giggles. 

“Oh, but this was marvellous!” the middle Honeyfoot laughed, clapping her hands. “Who goes next? Mama! You must!” 

Alas, it appeared as though Miss Redruth’s violin had had quite enough of Purfois’ handling for the night, as the moment he attempted to pick it up again, one of its strings broke and thwacked him sharply on the cheek with a sound eerily reminiscent of the voice of its owner, who, Segundus assumed, would be none too pleased with the state of the instrument upon her return after the holidays. Judging from the look on Purfois’ face, he was thinking just that as he stared down at it. 

It was then that Mrs Honeyfoot decided to make use of the opportune moment to announce that she would retire, which in turn prompted everyone else to look at the clock and decide that it was probably best for them to follow suit if they wanted to be of any use at all the next day. 

“What a wonderful evening,” Mr Honeyfoot said, suppressing a yawn as he embraced Segundus once more. “Happy Christmas, John. And goodnight!”

“Goodnight. Happy Christmas.” Furnishing each of them with a candle as they retired to their respective rooms, muttering Happy Christmases and goodnights at one another, Segundus returned sisterly embraces from each of the Honeyfoot girls. 

“Thank you, and Happy Christmas!” he repeated to their respective gentlemen as they trickled out of the room, making way only for Hadley-Bright, who was calling his goodnights as he barrelled past, being steadied by Levy and Purfois, who seemed to be trying to steer him past Segundus, out of the room, and towards the stairs to the teachers’ rooms. Segundus grimaced after them before shaking his head and turning back to Mr Radcliffe (no relation) to exchange a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Yes, we will leave at nine thirty. Goodnight! Goodnight! Happy Christmas!” 

As he watched the small lights disappear into the darkness of the house, Segundus felt as though he could feel the room exhale a long breath of silence. 

Walking over to the large table that had been pushed to the side to make space for their games, Segundus poured himself a final glass of water, which he suspected he would be thankful for on the morrow. Then, after a wry glance at the empty wassail bowl, he absent-mindedly began to collect glasses and dishes from where they had been set down all over the room over the course of the long evening. It was strictly speaking the servants’ job, and he would not have wanted the housekeeper to catch him at it, but they had had their own evening of celebration in the kitchens tonight and would not come to put things away until the morning. 

There was something calming to pacing the room and collecting abandoned items and putting them in one place.In the wake of so much rousing excitement, retiring to his bedroom appeared an altogether too sudden thing to do despite the heaviness of his eyelids. 

He was idly aware of Childermass, who was also taking a turn about the room, extinguishing candles as he went, with the exception of the candelabrum in the window that they had watched Levy light at sundown, its four flames enchanted to burn through the night until dawn. Segundus watched as Childermass, in the golden glow of the candles, rolled his shoulders with the same air of winding down from the evening as Segundus’ hands smoothed out the tablecloth over the corner of the dinner table. Neither of them seemed much in the mood for breaking the silence that sounded much like its own music now, after the evening’s bustle and noise. 

“So, Mr Segundus...” 

Segundus was just about to light his own candle to take upstairs, when Childermass appeared suddenly beside him. He was standing very close, and his voice was low and rumbling. 

“Kneeling, huh?” 

Segundus’ hands stilled and he let out a soft laugh, glancing at Childermass from the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” 

Something in his stomach fluttered at the memory of the look in Childermass’ eyes in that one shared moment that had existed only between them. 

“So did you, I think,” Childermass replied, holding his own candlestick to Segundus’. For the span of a suspended breath nothing happened, then the wick caught fire. 

“Well,” Segundus said, making sure to brush against Childermass on his way to the door. “You do have a very well-turned ankle, Mr Childermass…” 

Childermass hummed, intrigued. 

“Do I indeed…?” 

Leaving the parlour, Segundus smiled at the sound of the door being closed softly, of the quiet footsteps on the stairs behind him. 

“And should you perhaps,” Childermass muttered into the back of Segundus’ neck when they reached the headmaster’s private chambers, “wish to inspect my ankles more closely…?” 

Pressing back into the solid warmth of Childermass’ body as he slid the key into the lock, Segundus tried his very hardest to shoot him a most withering look. 

“It is 3am!”

The lock turned with a loud click. 

“Mh. Time for bed.” This Childermass mouthed against Segundus’ lips as he pressed him up against the wood from the inside, their candles flickering abandoned on the low shelf by the door.

“We have… we…” Grasping for words as he tilted his head back and arched into the wet, hot kisses Childermass was sucking into the dip of his throat, Segundus frowned. “Did you... hang a kissing bough above my bedroom door? _John–!_ ” 

Childermass cut him off with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, and Segundus, giddy and tired, and a little bit drunk, giggled. 

“We have... church… in the morning....” he breathed this in between kisses, even while his hands sought to unbutton and unfasten the closures of Childermass’ clothes. 

“Aye, we do,” Childermass agreed as he pushed Segundus down on the bed and crawled on top of him, shedding his unbuttoned waistcoat and shirt in one go, “but you would not want to be still thinking of this in church, would you?” 

Segundus laughed, his skin feeling hot and ticklish, as Childermass trailed a line of kisses down his front, rough cheeks sending shivers up and down Segundus’ body. 

“I daresay… I will… think of this… anyway…”

☙❧ 

“Hadley-Bright! Wake _up!_ ”

Groaning, Hadley-Bright tried to shut out the unwanted interruption of his dreams by rolling over and burying his head under his pillow. 

“Hadley-Bright!” The shaking got, if such a thing was possible, even more insistent. “Wake up!” the voice hissed again, and then snapped, “ _William!_ ” 

“What?!” Hadley-Bright sat up with a start, eyes wide, then, when the light of the morning hit his mind, instantly screwed them shut again and fell back. “Levy?” 

“William, what are we going to _do?_ ” 

“What…” Hadley-Bright squinted up at his friend, whose hair was as much of a mess as always and who looked frantic. “Why are you in my bedroom?” 

“You were too unconscious to lock your door earlier,” Levy replied tartly, which was, or so Hadley-Bright suspected, not exactly an answer. He blinked. 

“Is it time for church?” 

“Not yet,” Levy said, and when Hadley-Bright threw a glance at his watch that… as it turned out, was still in his pocket on account of his having fallen asleep in full dress... less than _four_ hours ago!

Levy slid off the bed and began to pace the room, hands in his hair, too distraught, Hadley-Bright thought, for someone who did not have to be presentable and ready to leave for service after a night of too little sleep. 

“Good God, Bill, what devil was riding us?” Levy stared at Hadley-Bright with wide eyes and admirable dark circles under them, “To get Mr Segundus – _the headmaster!_ – to… to _kneel_ before Mr Ch–… we made him get on his knees–!” 

He appeared to choke on his words and Hadley-Bright groaned and pressed his pillow to his face. 

“Calm down. We know it was hardly his first time–” 

“Yes, but,” Levy sputtered, still pacing, “ _He_ does not know that we know that! What if he–? I _need_ this position, Hadl–” 

“Levy, for heaven’s sake,” Hadley-Bright whined, catching Levy’s arm as he flailed his way past the bed again, and pulling hard enough to make him topple over. He landed squarely on top of Hadley-Bright with a pained “oof”. 

“Two hours,” Hadley-Bright muttered, eyes already closed and feeling for a piece of blanket or corner of the covers to throw over Levy’s body. “Sleep, Tom.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [ BeautifulSoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulSoup/pseuds/BeautifulSoup) for the beta and cheerleading. :D All remaining mistakes are mine.


End file.
